


Raise Thy Shield

by Kylenne



Series: This Warden's Work [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bisexual Female Character of Color, Female Character of Color, Multi, Polyamory, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 14:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8536432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne
Summary: For ten years, Ferelden has prospered under the Theirin Reforms, by which mages live free and independent of Chantry rule. The death of the Divine and the appearance of the Breach in the skies above Haven threatens all of it, and now Ferelden's oldest champion is called to serve his kingdom once more--whether he likes it or not.





	

For a kingdom more often than not sodden by rains, it seemed strange to Gisele that the worst of Fereldan days always seemed to be drenched in sunlight, soaked in golden rays. Propped up upon her favorite reclining couch by a veritable flock of downy pillows, she watched that warm light cast dancing shadows along the rich mahogany wood table beneath the tall, narrow window of Alistair’s sitting room; strangely, it put her to mind of the old apprentice’s dormitory in the Circle, and the day she awoke from her Harrowing what seemed a lifetime ago. The thought was unsettling.

That was the day she agreed to aid Jowan, and unwittingly sealed not only her own fate in the process, but that of an entire village.

This day was no less ill-favored, not even for the presence of her husband, and their lover, who stood at as great an impasse as they ever had in the worst of their conflicts with one another. And Gisele, weak and exhausted, was for once in no capacity to bridge it. Every inch of her body ached with the ordeal of childbirth, her already weak blood weakened even further by it; what she hadn’t told them, any of them, was the royal physician’s admonishment that little Isidore be the last child she would bear, else another Theirin king become widowed before his time. What she _had_ told them, and what was evident to all who loved her, was that she found herself quite unable to acquire the rest her ravaged body needed to heal. Her sleep had been restless even before she gave birth, in the days leading up to it, and ever since the Breach appeared her dreams were haunted and plagued by troubled visions. Thus her days were spent consumed by exhaustion, and it was why she required so many pillows to sit up straight.

Isidore, fortunately, had no such difficulty. At that very moment, in fact, he slept soundly in the nursery deeper within the royal suite. All Gisele wanted was to hold him, to dote over him as any adoring new mother would, counting his tiny fingers and toes, kissing his button nose, watching his curious eyes follow her glowing fingers as they conjured soft and colorful faerie fire to delight him, coaxing smiles and joyous laughter. All she wanted was to hold Isidore—and to rest in the strong arms of his father, to savor the deepening of this most unlikely bond between them, to marvel at the physical proof of it in a beautiful, tiny, dusky-skinned boy with raven black curls and steely blue eyes.

Instead, Isidore's father stood upon the scarlet carpet before her couch, illuminated by a beam of shining golden light filtering through the window, stiff-backed and proud, his weathered face stony, the line of his strong jaw tense, those same steely blue eyes narrow and piercing. He was called to be the loyal knight this day, and not the man overjoyed to have become a father once more so unexpectedly, as he neared the twilight of his years.

Instead, Gisele was forced to be his sovereign, his commander, his queen. 

Instead, Alistair loomed tall behind her, his calloused hands clasped upon the gilded wood; though she could not see his gaze fall upon their mutual beloved, she felt his long shadow fall over her, and took comfort in it, and a measure of strength. 

Though they chose to summon him to the king’s apartments rather than the council chamber or the throne room, the intent was no less grave.

“This is bad, Loghain. It’s awful,” Alistair said. “For the last ten years, the Chantry's looked at us like we’re a kingdom of mad heretics under the thrall of a maleficar itching to create a second Tevinter Imperium. Justinia was the one thing standing between us and an Exalted March, and now she’s dead. The Divine died on Fereldan soil along with half her highest ranking aides and Chantry officials in a gigantic magical explosion that left a bloody hole in the sky. How do you suppose that’s going to look to our dear friends in Val Royeaux?"

Loghain grit his teeth, his jaw tensing further. “Then we should look to our defenses. I’ll send word to Gwaren, and Amaranthine—"

“Zevran dispatched one of Leliana's agents to the Vigil last night, by my request. Nathaniel is aware of what transpired, to the extent we know anything. I trust his judgment, as always,” Gisele replied calmly. “And you should know better than anyone that Anora knows everything that transpires within these borders. She has her own agents within the palace, after all. But we’ve corresponded, and Cauthrien has already marshaled her knights and is sending quiet word to the Bannorn for everyone to stand ready. My father and the Council are also willing to lend aid--I promise it does not take much persuading elves to lend their might when the threat looming is Chantry templars. Highever will not become a second Halamshiral on anyone’s watch, least of all High Keeper Vandarel's. From a military standpoint, we’re well prepared for whatever Val Royeaux throws at us. It’s information we’re in need of at the moment, Loghain, more than anything else."

“And an advocate,” Alistair added. “This…Seeker Pentaghast seems to be the ranking commander in charge there according to the messenger, and I heard enough about Seekers in my templar novitiate to know they’re like mabari on the hunt."

“Oh, they are. We had words, she and I,” Gisele said shortly. The memory of Cassandra Pentaghast's ill-mannered demeanor still grated on Gisele, even weeks later. She felt Alistair squeeze her shoulders then, strong and tight, and the tension within her eased, her blood cooling. She frowned when he released her from his grip, but then he made his way around the front of the couch, carefully moved a number of pillows, and sat beside her, beckoning her to snuggle against him. She did so gladly. He was warm and his tightly muscled arm was inviting, slipping about her waist; she rested her cheek against his shoulder, sighing, but said nothing more.

“Anyway, heads are going to roll from this, mark my words, and I’d rather mine not be one of them. My darling spouses are rather fond of kissing it, and the children like my funny faces,” Alistair said. “I need someone I can trust to assess the situation and mind our interests."

Loghain’s thick, dark brows raised at that. “What about Leliana? Do you not trust your own wife to mind them, then?"

“No! No, it’s nothing like that at all,” Alistair protested. “I just don’t want her walking into that chaos alone, is all. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself, of course, but it’s the Chantry I don’t trust here, not Leli. I just refuse to put another wife in danger is all. If Pentaghast had gotten her way before, Gisele would have been at that Conclave, and I would have lost her. _We_  would have lost her.” 

Gisele shut her eyes as she felt Alistair’s trembling hand stroking her hair. He was far more capable of keeping his emotions in check than he was so long ago, but there were still some things that rendered him utterly incapable of doing so, and most of them involved her and their family.

“You didn’t, love,” she replied. 

“Not _this_ time, no. But I’ll eat my boots if what happened at that Conclave was an accident. I also married an Antivan Crow, you know. I know what an assassination looks like. And whoever killed the Divine did so with the intention of laying the whole thing at our feet. There's no one better suited to ferret out how and why than Leliana, but I'm not sending her into that chaos alone. Not when they probably suspect her of having a hand in it,” Alistair said grimly. "I suppose what I’m saying is that Ferelden needs you again, Loghain. Your land needs you, one more time."

“And what would you have me do?” Loghain shot back. His mouth twisted into a tight-lipped snarl. “Leave my king, and leave the mother of my newborn child and the babe with her when the danger to you all has never been greater? Would you have me abandon my duty to you, to this family, and leave you vulnerable at the worst possible moment?” His eyes fell upon Gisele then, blazing with repressed fury. “When you named me your champion, my lady, it meant something quite more to me than the sentimental Orlesian pap you intended it to be. I swore an oath by earth and sky to keep you in my care, and you ask me to break it. I pray you, do not ask this of me. Anything but this."

Gisele began to protest, but Alistair tightened his embrace again, by way of urging her to silence, and for once she acquiesced. She was simply too tired, too afraid.

“We only ask that you fulfill it in a different way. We’re asking you protect the woman Gisele and I love, our wife and second mother to our children, as assuredly as you would protect Gisele. And we wouldn’t ask this of you if the need weren’t great. You know that,” Alistair said. “Believe you me, nothing would put my mind at ease more than having your shield alongside mine, like the old days. But it would put my mind far more at ease guarding Leliana, because she needs it far more at the moment. Palace living hasn’t made me nearly as soft as you think, old man."

Loghain’s tense jaw softened, if only a little, and he managed a tight lipped smile at Alistair. “Is that so, pup?"

“You lost the right to call me that after you took me to bed, you know,” Alistair murmured. “In all seriousness though, there’s no one else who can go with her. My hands are tied, Gisele's ill, and Zev needs to stay here and look after their network of spies, now more than ever. Information will protect us more than a second shield, and will help us all. So that leaves you, my ornery old beloved. I’d have thought you would jump at the chance to foil an Orlesian conspiracy, anyway. Wasn't it one of your hobbies, way back when?” 

“Then perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think. Believe it or not, Alistair, there are some things in this life of greater import to me than even foiling Orlesian conspiracies,” Loghain said sternly. “One of them lies sleeping in the nursery."

Alistair nodded. “I understand—believe me, I do. But I wasn’t lying when I said I’d love Isidore like he’s my own, like Zev's girls. He _is_  my own, as far as I’m concerned, blood or no, the same as Lu and Fran. I won’t let any harm come to him, I swear it. He's a Theirin," Alistair said gravely, and tears welled up in Gisele's eyes at his most sincere declaration of sentiment. For nothing meant more to Alistair than this most unconventional of families they'd made together with Leliana and Zevran, a bevy of tiny, lovely little children, and the extended network of lovers, some shared, some not. Love guided Gisele always, and it bloomed and flourished wherever she went, even in the cold, rainy muck of Ferelden. Even between Alistair and the man they once hated enough to wish dead, that he had once nearly executed but for Gisele bodily throwing herself between blade and condemned.

Love was a strange, strange thing.

“I know, lad. And it means more to me than my inadequate words could ever express,” Loghain said, his tone soft for a moment along with his eyes, warm with affection. “But this isn’t about you. This is about duty. A duty I swore to uphold by the most sacred vow in the old ways.”

“You vowed to protect me, my heart as well as my body,” Gisele said softly. “Leliana _is_ my heart.”

“A mage’s sophistry,” Loghain scoffed. “Do not mistake me: I care for Leliana as a comrade in arms and a dear friend. I would protect her as I would any of our companions. But I am not her sworn Champion. I’m _yours_.” 

“Is there no way you’ll agree to this of your own accord?” Alistair pleaded.

“None. I’m not leaving you--either of you,” Loghain declared adamantly. “Wild dogs couldn’t drag me away from you now, oath or no. I'll not leave you in danger."

“Please don’t make me pull rank with you,” Alistair said, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “I hate doing that."

“It would appear you have little choice, your Majesty,” Loghain said.

Alistair sighed deeper then, burying his face in his hand, rubbing at his weary eyes with his palm for a moment, and took a deep breath. “Loghain Mac Tir,” he said, his voice taking a strong measure of command. It made Gisele’s blood run hot, truth be told, though she dared not tell him that.

Loghain stiffened, glaring unconcealed daggers at him. “Yes, your Majesty," he snarled.

“As your sovereign king, I command you to accompany the Princess Leliana to the town of Haven, and aid her investigation in whatever way possible. It’s our will that you aid Seeker Pentaghast--or whomever the Chantry has left in charge there--in whatever manner she deems necessary, and that Ferelden’s interests be protected. We can afford no less, not with Orlais in disarray too,” Alistair said.

“Then I am bound to obey... _my_ _king_ ,” Loghain replied coldly, the title dripping with venom. He pressed his tensed fist against his heart, and gave a stiff-backed bow, all cold formality, with none of the affection it normally held. Gisele wanted to cry, watching him revert to the reluctant servant in such a manner, a measure of the old hatred and wounded pride returning to him--along with the old resentment, though it all came from a far different place now than it did in those early days of enmity. She knew him too well by half now not to understand that it was the very love they shared which drove him to such ire, rather than contempt and bitter anger. And that selfsame love would by turns make the resentments fade in time, Gisele knew it. 

For Alistair was no longer seen to Loghain's eyes as the weak bastard unworthy of his late beloved's legacy and face, or the puppet who usurped his daughter's throne in a Warden's coup, not for years. Now, as for so long, Alistair was by turns his beloved student and sovereign, one who shared his old love's looks and humor of a surety, but with a wit and unexpected cunning all his own. He was a man Loghain had come to love as much as his father, and an even better king. Perhaps that was Gisele's only consolation in all this: Loghain was furious only because he did not wish to be sent from their side.

Loghain was furious only because he loved them so fiercely.

By the sensation of Alistair's trembling hands when he squeezed her more tightly in his arms, she knew he felt much the same about it as she did, and Gisele understood just why Alistair hated to do such a thing. That fierce, incomparable love was returned, several times over, and in ways which defied both description and reason.

When their beloved rose, he was stone faced once more. “Is there anything else you require of me, your Majesties?" Loghain asked.

“Watch over Leliana,” Gisele said, swallowing down the lump in her throat, at the memory of heated Orlesian words exchanged in this same chamber the past evening. “Not merely her person, but her heart. Justinia meant a great deal to her, long before she ever knew us. In her grief, I fear she blames herself for all this, for choosing to serve us as Mistress of Spies, instead of the Divine. Please don’t let her. We quarreled last night about it. My heart bleeds to see her in such pain, but she also needs her wits about her, and her bard’s cunning. The balance of Ferelden hangs upon them both. Please talk to her, and comfort her if you can. She is fond of you, and respects your counsel as a friend."

Loghain’s eyes softened, to Gisele’s relief—but only a little. It was a small victory she claimed nonetheless. “I will watch over the Princess to the best of my ability, your Majesty,” he said, with a polite, if coldly formal nod of his head. Gisele wanted to shake him, to beg him not to leave this way, but she knew him too well. She knew his pride was stinging, and that no matter what either she or Alistair told him, he would view this as a manner of exile, and he would resent it. She could only pray he would see the wisdom in it, once the wound no longer smarted quite so much, and see that he was simply fulfilling his oath in a different way.

“May your gods watch over you, ser knight,” Alistair said softly. “Ferelden is in your debt once again. We won’t forget it, either.” 

Loghain said nothing, merely bowing once more, and turned on his heel to leave, shadows at his back.

“I love you, old man,” Alistair called after him.

Loghain stopped at the door, his hands gripped tightly upon the handles. His broad shoulders lowered a bit, then, before he spoke with his back still turned to them both. “I know,” he said simply, softly, his voice a cracking baritone.

“I do, you know. Even if it’s because I took one too many blows to the head from darkspawn. But I really do. So be careful. And come back alive, damn you. No foolish heroics or sacrifices. Your family needs you.”

“I will.” 

“I mean that,” Alistair insisted. “And anyway I don’t think you need to go dying just yet, because I’m not sure you’re quite ready for that conversation in the Fade with my father. I mean, _awk-ward_.” 

“Will you mind your damned tongue for once, boy?” Loghain barked.

“I think it’s _you_ minding it that makes the whole thing so awkward, actually,” Alistair said.

“Keep blithering and I’ll give you awkward,” Loghain grumbled ominously.

Gisele covered her mouth to stifle her giggles, at last turning to bury her face in Alistair’s shoulder to cover her fit of laughter. Banter was a good sign, with Loghain, and further reassurance to her that his pique wouldn’t last. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and rested her cheek against Alistair once more before speaking.

“He means it, silly as he is. We love you, and want you to come back to us whole. Isidore needs  _one_  sensible and levelheaded father in this lot. Would you entrust Alistair and Zevran to teach him proper responsibility?” Gisele said wryly.

“…that he does. So do the others, for that matter,” Loghain replied, and Gisele thought she detected a hint of that dry wit of his--to her relief.

“Hey!” Alistair pouted.

“I’ve reasons to be cautious, it would seem,” Loghain said. “I’ll bear them in mind. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a journey to prepare for.”

He exited at last, the doors slamming behind him, but not so much as Gisele expected. She sighed, and sunk deeper into her husband’s embrace.

“Well, that went rather splendidly,” Alistair snickered, with a sigh of his own. She felt him reach down and kiss the top of her head.

“Better than I hoped,” Gisele agreed. “They’re still on their hinges.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place several weeks after the beginning of If It Please the Queen, and serves to explain why Loghain is the Inquisition's military commander in Gisele's 'verse instead of Cullen. It also provides context for why Leliana, who never became Left Hand of the Divine in this 'verse, is still the Inquisition's Spymaster.


End file.
